Onwards and Upwards
by Darthanne
Summary: At the end of their life together, Quatre reflects on his and Trowa's relationship. ( 3x4, implied 1x2. DEATH FIC in the sense that what others fear as an ending, others welcome as a new start )


Onwards and Upwards

By Anne Olsen

Warning: This is a death fic in the sense that what others fear as an ending, others welcome as a new start.

Author's notes: When I read books I always read the last chapter first. Funnily enough I often write the same way. This is part of the canon based fic series called 'Outlasting Time' which started with the fic 'Counterpoint.' For more information check out http://www.angelfire.com/ab7/shadesandechoes/outlastingtime.html

Obviously it's the final story of the arc, now all I have to do is fill in the gaps. 

The title 'Onwards and Upwards' comes from /_The Last Battle_/ by CS Lewis, the final book in the Narnia series. 

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. Promise to return when I'm finished, honest.

Alicia Maxwell-Yuy, nee Bloom Winner, and her husband Michael belong to their respective parents and as said parents are ex Gundam pilots and a tad over protective, ask before borrowing. 

Thanks to: Maureen and Raletha for their valuable feedback and encouragement while I wrote this, and to Ash who pulled double duty and beta read. 

Special thanks also goes to Ash for her wonderful Arabian/English dictionary. 

__

Abb means 'father', _muHibb_ is 'lover' and _hadeeya _translates as 'gift.' 

Feedback to: anneo@paradise.net.nz

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I feel your hand around mine, your finger gently stroking the plain gold band on my ring finger. The movement is slow, painful, an effort for you. I want to reach out and wrap my arms around you, to tell you it's okay, that everything to be all right, but I can't. Even Gundam pilots can't fight this foe, can't win the battle against death. It comes for everyone eventually; we can only meet it face on, and move on.

It's not death that scares me, it's living without you. 

__

It's not living, it's existing. I can't go on with the thought of never.

I remember saying that to you once, a lifetime ago. It's still the truth. You are so much a part of me, the half of my soul I need to survive, to be completely whole. 

And I know you feel the same way. 

Your hand grips mine firmly, the action conveying more than the words you cannot say, ever will. We've always had this connection, even before we admitted it to each other. Kindred spirits don't need words to communicate. A glance, a gesture, that's all that is needed to touch each other with our love. 

A smile creases my lips, but I don't think you notice. 

Sex with you was never just about the physical act. It was the melding of souls, the merging of spirit. It was completion. It always will be.

__

"I don't have a name but you can call me Trowa. Trowa Barton."

You will always be so much more than just Trowa to me. Fellow Gundam pilot, friend, lover, husband. When we married you decided to take my name. Why hang on to something that doesn't belong to you in the first place, you said. You belong to me, Trowa. The same way I will always belong to you. 

I remember hanging out that second storey window, telling you _my_ name, hoping to, no needing you, to remember me, to keep a portion of myself in your heart until we met again. 

Love at first sight does exist, I know that to be true. That first time we met, I knew we shouldn't be fighting, knew there was something special, a connection which shouldn't be broken. The nightmares of thinking I'd destroyed you, destroyed a part of myself have gradually grown less over the years. I've accepted my mistakes, or maybe I've just buried them deep enough so that they can't torture me.

Will they return once this final barrier comes between us? Or has it been your presence that has helped to banish the ghosts all this time? 

Trowa, I'm scared. 

Hold me. 

Please.

I don't want to leave you, anymore than you want to leave me. 

I focus, and attempt to return my ragged breathing to some semblance of normality. Your head turns and our eyes meet. 

"Cat?" you ask, your normally calm green wet with the emotion of loss.

I nod. "Love you," I whisper. "I'm sorry, muHibb. We're running out of time."

You lean over, placing your finger over my lips. "Ssh. Never be sorry." You replace the finger with your mouth, and I lean into the kiss, somehow finding the energy to respond. 

I don't want to comprehend an existence, an eternity without you, Trowa. I can't. I won't. 

I concentrate again on my breathing, trying to keep it even. Trying to give you some security to hang on you before…

The end.

Or is it the beginning?

I feel a tear fall from my cheek. You gently wipe it away for me, the way you've always wiped all my tears.

The tears of sorrow and of joy. 

The joy of holding our daughter for the first time. Then years later watching her walk down the aisle, into a new life in the arms of _her_ other half. I remember the comments you made about her choice of partner, but somehow it seems right. 

I always thought the destinies of the Gundam pilots were intertwined. I just never imagined the extent of Allah's plan; that our children would also fall in love. In its own way it completes the circle, making everything we've done and achieved complete. Our destiny will continue through our descendants. Immortality is achieved by what you leave behind, not necessarily the stories left by the history books. History is only a partial retelling of the truth, never the whole story and always leaves out the important parts because the writer felt they were incidental. 

Will those who remember the Gundam pilots in years to come remember who we really were? History will never know of our love, the part of ourselves we never showed on the battlefield, for the people with the power to write their version of events are sadly usually those who twist it to their own purposes. 

The Eve wars were anything but the romanticised fight for freedom of oppression that is the common version now taught in the schools. I still remember the reaction of those kids when we told our story. They hadn't even realised how young we'd been, the mistakes we'd made, the sacrifices made to bring them the world they now take for granted. 

History often forgets that its heroes were human, with their own emotional baggage and inherent flaws. 

How will they remember us, my Trowa?

They will never know you the way I have known you. They will never have the privilege of discovering a shared soul, of tasting your essence, feeling it wrap around and enclose me with its love, touching that part of me which no one else has ever seen. 

Bringing with it the experience of coming home. 

They will remember us by our numbers, as zero three and zero four. They will not even be sure that the names associated with those designations were correct. I suspect that Trowa Barton and Quatre Raberba Winner will cease to exist over time. As will the names of our comrades in arms, our friends. 

People forget; even in our own lifetime they have forgotten. 

They have forgotten as easy as those reading a book turn the pages and move onto the next chapter. Is that all our struggle has become? A page in the never-ending story of history?

I know I sound bitter, but I'm not. 

How can I be bitter when we achieved so much? 

I sigh, and your hand on mine tightens, your wedding band brushing my flesh in a soft caress.

Twelve. 

Three times four. 

It's fitting that the engraving we chose for our rings reflected the way we met, the events that brought us together. From all bad things comes something good. Even from the horror that was the war. 

I knew I'd found my missing piece, my completion even before you reached out and touched my soul with your music and confirmed it. Sometimes, when we were apart, especially during the war, I'd sit and remember that first duet, the way our notes intertwined, each instrument sharing its own interpretation of the melody that is life. 

That music is so much a part of me, even now it helps to soothe the pain, helps to me focus on the important things. It's a barrier I can hide behind, now that I haven't the energy to construct my own. 

"Play to me, Trowa. Please."

Your hesitation washes over me in a river of turbulence, and I feel guilty for having made the request. "I'm sorry," I whisper, aware of you struggling to hold yourself together. You've always been my anchor through the storms in life, projecting calmness and holding our family together. 

You don't answer in words, but instead move away. I attempt to open my eyes, but all I can see is darkness. The light of this world is fading, Trowa, and I'm not ready to move into the next.

I whimper, reaching out for something to cling to, and immediately a melody permeates the room. It's a melody which is more than just music, it's a song of the heart, a tune which promises forever with a purity which for just a moment makes me forget. 

If only I had the energy to add my song to yours, the way we've always done. For this song, this beauty is now incomplete. I can feel it searching, wanting, crying and I weep with it. 

The song changes, and I imagine myself drawing my own bow across the strings of my heart, playing the only instrument I have left to me, in a vain attempt to capture what we are about to lose. 

The room grows quiet, as the last note on the flute cuts off sharply, your sobs echoing mine. 

"Daddy?" Alicia's voice cuts across the sudden stillness. 

"Soon." You reply. 

I try to open my eyes for one last glimpse of our daughter, but my body won't co operate. Slowly I'm losing control of my senses. Yet the tie which binds together most strongly, that empathy seems to be growing stronger even as the others are failing. It's almost as though we are merging. I'm unable to ascertain where my emotions stop and yours begin. 

"Shall I get Michael and the others?" Alicia's voice is soft, catching as she attempts to contain her tears, yet for some reason I can't feel her the same way I usually can. As the end nears, all I am aware of are you and I. 

Her voice seems so far away, the distance growing with each passing moment. _I love you, hadeeya,_ I whisper in my heart. 

"I know, Abb. I love you too." Somehow she hears my unspoken farewell. I'm dimly aware of soft lips on my forehead, then the sound of running footsteps as she goes to fetch her husband and our friends. 

Hold me, Trowa. Hold me so I can pretend you will never have to let go.

The bed creaks as you climb next to me, spooning your body around mine like you do every night. Holding me close, trying to fortify the illusion that this time is no different.

"I love you Quatre Raberba Winner." I feel your breath, hot against my ear as you whisper your goodbye.

__

I love you too, Trowa Winner. 

I'm aware of a light coming for me, through the darkness. I pull away, not wanting to leave you but it's insistent. I can't feel your touch, Trowa. 

__

Trowa! 

"It's okay, Quatre. I'm here."

You hold me, and suddenly it's okay and I find the courage to move forwards. I open my eyes, and notice you with me.

__

What?

I glance back towards the room and stop, the lines between what I know to be true and what I wish for suddenly blurring. 

You sense my confusion and put your arms around my waist, pulling me into an embrace, kissing me full on the lips. A lone tear trickles down your face. "I couldn't leave you, Cat. _Living without you isn't living. It's existing_." Your words echo those I said long ago. "You _are _my life. We've faced everything else together, why should this be any different?"

I take one last look at the room, at two lovers curled around each other, taking comfort from each other in death as in life, and together we walk towards the light.

We find ourselves on a hillside, but I'm not sure where. It doesn't matter. You laugh, and the music of it catches in the breeze and surrounds us.

The surrounding countryside is pure, unspoiled. The colours are deeper, more real than anything I've experienced before. All the pain, all the tiredness is gone. I sense your wonderment, your joy, turn towards you and my jaw drops.

"Trowa?" You look exactly as you did standing on your Gundam, you hands raised in surrender, the first time we met. Even down to that turtleneck, which I haven't seen in years.

I glance down, running my fingers over my own face, my clothes. "Death isn't a end, it's just the beginning." You reach out your hand towards the horizon, smiling at the awe in my voice. 

"Onwards and upwards," you reply and I smile in return, remembering the line from a series of books we both loved. 

We run towards our future hand in hand, and I realise the truth.

True love doesn't just outlast time, it spans eternity

~Fin~


End file.
